One Dog Night (20 page)

“Yes.”

“How many people were on these tapes?” I ask. “How many customers did they have?”

“Maybe a few hundred.”

“You have quite a memory. Do you remember if a lot of the customers for these drugs were CEOs of large corporations, heiresses, members of royal families, people like that?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, though I’m sure she knows where I’m going.

“I mean, were they wealthy people? Titans of industry?”

“You’d be surprised how many wealthy people use recreational drugs,” she says.

“That they were buying from this house, in this neighborhood in Paterson?”

She finally allows as how the clientele for this particular establishment were not particularly well-to-do.

“In fact, Detective, in your experience haven’t you seen many people for whom drug use is financially devastating, and it becomes a constant struggle for many of these people to secure enough money to feed their habit?”

“I have seen that many times, yes.”

“So if your six-year-old memory is correct, and Mr. Galloway was having difficulty supporting his habit, he would have been one of many in that situation?”

“That’s likely. Yes.”

“And people who are desperate for drugs will usually do almost anything to get them, is that correct?”

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Dylan look up; he’s pleased by my question. He wants Noah to be seen as desperate and willing to do anything.

“In my experience, yes,” Pyles says.

“In their desperation to get the drugs, do you often find that they set fire to them?”

Pyles is obviously taken aback by the question, and all she can mutter is, “Every situation is different.”

“But in this situation, the drugs that Mr. Galloway was desperate to get were destroyed by the fire he is accused of setting?”

“That is true. Yes.”

“Thank you, no further questions.”

Tonight is our anniversary.

Since Laurie and I are not actually married, assigning an anniversary date can be tricky. Obvious possibilities were the date we met, or when we started going out, or when we moved in together.

We rejected all those, and chose as our anniversary the day she moved back from Wisconsin to be with me. That seemed to be the date that our commitment became explicit, at least as far as she was concerned. I was hooked long before that.

We’re not really the fancy-dinner, candlelight types, especially during a trial, when every minute counts. We also wouldn’t think of going out on a significant occasion like this without Tara, since she is an integral part of our family. And as the largest, albeit temporary, member of our family, Bailey’s company is welcome as well.

So we head to the Fireplace on Route 17. They’ve got terrific burgers, roast beef sandwiches, and the like, and their hot dogs are among Tara’s favorites. It is also one of the few places that takes me seriously when I say I want my french fries burned beyond recognition.

During the warmer months, we sit outside and eat, but that certainly is not an option tonight. They will let any human inside to eat, no matter how big a loser he or she might be, but dogs are not allowed in. Tara is cleaner than at least half the patrons, and probably smarter than ninety percent, but she and Bailey can’t come in, so we eat in the car.

I have to make two trips from the restaurant to the car, because if I try and carry all of Bailey’s food I could hurt myself. She’s actually a fairly dainty eater, doesn’t make a mess and licks her lips clean. She finishes four hot dogs before Tara has one, and eyes Tara’s remaining food hungrily. But she doesn’t go after it.

Laurie and I resolve not to talk about the case during dinner, but we break that particular resolution within five minutes. We have a lot to go over, and since we’d have to do it when we got home anyway, we decide to get a head start on it.

Laurie’s report is depressing. She has spent the last two days attempting to contact every person on our list of cell phone calls. She has been successful in reaching more than half of them, but unsuccessful in getting anyone to reveal anything of consequence.

“It feels like they’re all reading from the same script,” she says. “They all say they don’t know what I’m talking about, and that while they’d like to help, they really need more information about what we’re looking for.”

“No unusual reactions at all?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. One of them actually laughed at me. A D.C. political consultant named Brett Fowler. He sometimes goes on those cable news shows. He had seen you on TV … thought it was a riot that he was on your list.”

It’s not an unexpected development, but nonetheless disappointing. The truth is that my threat to publicly expose anyone who didn’t cooperate was basically an empty one. We know far too little to do any damage; we don’t even know what it is we don’t know.

I describe what happened in court today, as accurately as I can, and Laurie says, “It sounds like you did very well.”

I launch into my “debating points” versus “verdict points” theory, but she’s heard it maybe a thousand times, so she cuts me short. “The key thing is you’re not getting steamrolled,” she says. “You’ll have time to make your verdict points when you present your case.”

There’s no sense mentioning that we don’t have a case, so I don’t. But I’m also not about to fake being upbeat about our chances. “The emotional side of this is always going to be against us,” I say.

“You mean the way the people died?”

“Yes. Every person on that jury has got an image in their mind of what it was like for the victims, and that’s only going to get stronger. Dylan is going to sift through every human ash in the building.”

“I wonder why they did it that way,” she says. “I mean, regardless of who the target was, why not just come in and shoot them in the head?”

I nod. “I know; that’s bothered me from the beginning. This was so much more difficult to pull off, and not as sure a thing. One person got out; others could have. Maybe even the targets.”

It’s weird how certain things happen, and how they can trigger thoughts. I wouldn’t leave a Fireplace french fry uneaten if there was a tsunami bearing down on me, I’m almost finished with these, and the last few are just burned ash; if you saw one in a different context you would never know it was once a proud french fry.

But looking at it somehow gives me an insight. “The purpose was the obliteration,” I say.

“What does that mean?”

“They didn’t shoot their targets because killing them wasn’t the only goal. They were trying to remove all traces of something.”

“Any idea what that could be?”

I shake my head. “Not really. It could have been anything.”

“Maybe it was identity,” Laurie says. “There were people in there that have still not been identified, and never will be. The fire could have been set to hide who was in there.”

“And even who wasn’t,” I say. “There was no real way to identify most of those people; it was based on secondhand reports. People believed their friends and family were in there, and that was confirmed by the fact that they were missing afterward. We could think somebody died that night who wasn’t even there. That’s why they used napalm; they wanted it to burn so hot that there’d be nothing left. Gasoline and a match wouldn’t have accomplished it.”

“They could have used the napalm to help point the finger at Noah,” Laurie says. “Because of his background.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. We haven’t even come up with a reason why anybody would want to do this to Noah. I think he may have just come in handy, as someone to blame it on.”

“Which they waited six years to do?” she asks.

“That’s been the key question all along, and I finally think I may know how to get to the answer. But it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Why?”

I look at my watch. “Two reasons. One, if I call Pete this late, he’ll kill me. And two, it’s time to go home to celebrate our anniversary.”

“You mean sex?” she asks.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Laurie feigns a yawn; at least I hope she’s feigning. Feign detection has never been one of my strengths, and females have been yawning at my advances since high school. “Been there, done that,” she says.

“Good,” I say. “Then you’ll know exactly what to do. I’m tired of having to teach you.”

“Or we could not celebrate at all,” she says.

“A night without sex?” I ask, and then shake my head. “Nope … been there, done that.”

I call Pete at eight-thirty in the morning, on my way to court.

“What took you so long?” is the way he starts the conversation, dispensing with “hello.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“You’re calling because you’ve got some questions, and you think I have the answers.”

“You got that right.”

“So what took you so long?” he asks. “I was going to call you if I had to.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Not my style,” he says. “What are you doing now?”

“Going to court.”

“Can you meet me at Stiff City at seven o’clock? I’ll try and get Nancy to hang around.”

“You want to give me a preview?” I ask.

“No.”

The conversation with Pete has been intriguing, which is more than I can say for what is going to happen in court today. Dylan is planning a parade of witnesses who are going to say that Noah was a frequent presence in the area near the fire, and that he was known to be purchasing drugs from the “businessmen” on the first floor.

The first witness is Lawrence Cahill, known to residents of the neighborhood as Larry, showing if nothing else he believes in really clever nicknames. Laurie’s investigation of Larry shows a person of less than the highest character, but he is dressed up today like he’s heading straight for the senior prom after court.

Larry’s tale is as advertised based on the discovery documents. He had seen Noah on a number of occasions in the neighborhood, at least a dozen by his recollection. Noah had been visiting the ill-fated house to buy drugs, and Larry and the other neighbors considered the activities a scourge on the community.

I’m not sure why Larry is here today, though it’s probably to bask in the publicity limelight of the moment, and look good doing it. He doesn’t get many chances to do so, and it probably was irresistible.

I could ask a few perfunctory questions and let him go; that’s probably what I should do. His testimony is not particularly damaging, since we are not contesting that Noah was a drug user, and that he bought from the occupants of the house. I should probably just let Larry have his pathetic moment in the sun, and let him go.

But I won’t.

“Mr. Cahill,” I begin, “how did you recognize the defendant here today?”

“What do you mean? I used to see the guy all the time in the neighborhood; he hasn’t changed that much.”

“So the fact that he no longer has the beard didn’t throw you off?”

Larry seems a little worried about how to respond to this, so he goes with the relatively safe, “No, it didn’t.”

“What kind of beard did he have? Do you remember?”

Larry puts his hand to his chin, in a demonstration. “Just a regular one … you know, around the chin.”

“Yes, that’s where beards grow, around the chin. So you remember the beard, but you can’t picture exactly what it looked like?” I ask.

“Right.”

“What if I were to tell you that Noah Galloway didn’t have a beard then, and never had one in his life? And that he had a moustache instead?”

A flash of panic on the good citizen’s face, and then, “That’s what I meant, a moustache. I’m a little nervous; I got the words confused.”

“You meant to say he had a moustache on his chin? Where was the beard, on his big toe?”

The jury and gallery are laughing, which causes Dylan to come out of his stupor and object that this is irrelevant. De Luca overrules him and the fun continues.

“Noah Galloway never had a moustache either, Mr. Cahill. I could show you a picture, if you’d like. Are you sure it wasn’t Abe Lincoln you saw in the neighborhood? Or maybe Adolf Hitler?”

Dylan objects again, and De Luca suggests I move on.

“You testified that Mr. Galloway was coming to the neighborhood to purchase drugs. Were you a witness to those purchases? Were you in the room when they took place?”

“No.” Larry has decided to switch to the “fewer words is better” approach.

“How did you know which apartment he went to? Were you standing in the corridor at the time he entered the building?”

“Everybody knew,” he says.

“So you heard this from other people?”

“I knew it also.”

“Okay, let’s assume you somehow knew which apartment Mr. Galloway entered,” I say. “How did you know they sold drugs in there?”

“Everybody knew that too.”

“Did this all-knowing everybody buy drugs from them as well? Or were you the only one?”

He shakes his head emphatically. “No way. Not me.”

“Who did you buy your drugs from?”

“I never bought drugs,” he lies.

“You have two convictions for possession, for which you served ninety days in prison. You were innocent of those crimes?”

“Yes.”

“You pleaded guilty to throw the authorities off the track?”

Dylan objects, and De Luca sustains.

Time for me to wrap this up. “Mr. Cahill, one of those convictions was two weeks after the fire. Is it possible that in the weeks before that, your mind was impaired by drugs? And that instead of seeing Mr. Galloway, you saw some facial-haired person and got them mixed up?”

“No,” he says.

“No further questions,” I say.

I enjoyed that, but all I did was add debating points to my increasing total. Dylan is going to bring more witnesses to say basically the same thing that Cahill said. It was a stupid move on Dylan’s part to have Cahill testify at all, and especially first.

Dylan calls four more witnesses in succession that place Noah in the neighborhood, having dealings with the drug guys on the first floor. These witnesses are not convicted drug users, nor are they lying. For that reason I barely lay a glove on them, and don’t try too hard to do so.